#rejusticed

[smilewept]

jello

leo: welcome to my sarah x reader fanfiction with a few special guests!

jj: i hate this

leo: XD

[navicoms]

GORO     AKECHI.     CODENAME  :   CROW. &.  they said glory is reserved for the twisted minds.

        aesthetic prompt.          for      @rejusticed.

[kijoku]

anw hello there u_u

       »   @rejusticed  +  meme  (  accepting  !  )

   ‘‘   i’m  already  akechi.   ’’

[aicidos]

❝ don’t say you can’t accept that this is the end. ❞ lol. akira

twilight princess sentences.   ♡  * @rejusticed.

he liked to think that, for the most part, he had kept his wits about himself. 

the blood that trailed his face when he first ripped off the mask and the blood running down in a neat trail left by the bullet, it was still the same in composition. but akira wasn’t. the things he had lost, the things he had gained, and the things he was about to lose again. akechi made it a point to tear the fabric of this reality, and akira had never known serenity could be so morbid. 

akechi held the metaphorical gun, still, only now towards himself. akira supposed he would help him pull the trigger if it meant touching his hand one last time. 

he knew akechi wanted to hear his voice, but more specifically, wanted to hear him say it. and hidden under the hermetically-sealed semblance of composure were the fresh punctures to his heart. he had known since day one. maruki’s confirmation was a useless reminder at best, and a cruel form of leverage at worst. it was, above all, a wakeup call of akira’s own hypocrisy; the rest of the phantom thieves had snapped out of their solipsistic delusions, why shouldn’t he?

“...it’s been over a while ago.” he admitted, and was surprised at himself at how simple it sounded, even to him. the truth could sometimes be just that. simple. a shame that never translated into ‘easy’. “that i can accept it doesn’t mean i wanted it to end like this.”

[theirfool]

❛ that wasn't like an ask out or anything, was it? ❜ tehe

“ wow, ” he deadpans in his usual droll cadence, as if addressing the fluctuating metropolitan weather and not the confession precursor he just served goro alongside his very elaborate coffee order, “ the detective prince strikes again, busting the case wide open. ” it’s just the two of them this time around: the boss is off on an errand to the nearest pharmacy before closing, searching for some ultra-specific medicine for the mystery bug futaba happened to catch, likely at the arcade, and akira’s not expecting him back for at least another thirty minutes. even mona’s technically absent, blessedly asleep upstairs, and it’s precisely these coinciding absences that prompted akira’s proposition in the first place. he never would’ve gotten away with being this brazenly overt, otherwise. doubts goro would’ve even acknowledged it.

“ i wasn’t sure if you were picking up my hints. so you were just ignoring me? ” if it’s goro’s intent to put him off with what must be mockery at this point, they find themselves in a very unfortunate predicament. “ i’m anticipating a hefty tip as emotional recompense. ”

[theirfool]

❛ you want me to make you some coffee? ❜ ^^

“ mm… ” akira has his phone in his hand, net loaded on an article on the recent bike thefts in yongen-jaya (something to pass the time in the quiet of goro’s apartment), and doesn’t lift his head until several seconds have passed. he blinks, languid, a cat’s moniker, and inclines his head; not a nod, but rather acknowledgement. “ that depends. do you have any cute mugs? ”

before he started going to school, the adults around him (his extended family, mostly— his parents never entertained it) had this game they liked to play where they pretended akira could read their minds. he never understood it then, couldn’t find the humor in it even as his aunties tucked spilling laughter behind the curtains of their palms like it was some big, elaborate undertaking, but he never particularly cared to, either. these days, whenever he catches his own gaze in any semi-clear reflection and lingers to examine it, their mean-spirited snickering from back then is much less of a mystery.

he meets goro’s eyes across the room from his seat on the couch and ponders the stories goro hasn’t told him yet; wonders if goro was able to hide himself away or if the adults around him looked at him like they used to look at akira. “ and can i watch you make it? i’m kind of curious about your technique. ”

[aicidos]

miss u

WHAT WERE YOU DOING LOGGED INTO AKECHI

[aicidos]

akechi’s lips curl and it’s more mischief than malice; and the way he holds up the comb is one degree of separation away from the way he would hold a knife. “you didn’t think i’d forgotten our promise, surely?” akechi teases, voice deliberately light as he stands behind the barstool occupied by akira, his empty hand idly running fingers through akira’s hair. he stops when they brush against plastic — right, the glasses. akechi removes them without a warning, setting them down on the counter before tapping the comb against his cheek as he considers. “i think… we should start with giving you bangs.”

unprompted.   ♡  * always accepting ! @rejusticed.

when akira had mistakenly asked, "so, what will it be?" he was referring to the specialty coffee.

he blinks, stunned, because he did, actually, think akechi would forget. that is on him, though, for believing the detective prince would let slide the chance of retribution. very well, then, akira nods with a dignified air he's struggling to cling to. he has always preached fairness, after all, and this should hardly bruise his ego. in fact, the only thing he finds hard to digest is the way he has to face away from akechi, back revealed.

...on second thought, he's way more vulnerable than he would like to be.

the pads of akechi's fingers run across his scalp, and he is so very still, almost breathless in his silence, as if he might hear akechi's thoughts if he stayed quiet enough. so far, it has never worked. when he moves to circle him, akira doesn't startle, nor does he lower his gaze. it's only when the glasses are carefully removed that it sinks in: he is really aiming for the kill here. bangs.

he nearly struggles to successfully speak in a way that doesn't lack any nonchalance, "i thought you said you'd plan all of this carefully." akira's hand rises to mess his own hair, his curls reluctant to find any rhyme or reason in their patterns. "this won't do," he shrugs, suddenly a little too invested in the plausibility of ever being a stunt double. "we'd have to borrow ann's hair straightener. and then there's the clothes..." he pinches his chin in faux deep thought, cocking his head aside and closing his eyes.

then, he opens them. "vests don't suit me..."